They purify you; hone your thoughts; crystallize your motivations. Breathe in. Hear the crinkle-crack of your cavity expanding with air. Modern day St. Anthony at your shipyard desk, you. Taste of copper in your mouth; running from your nose. Sputtering cough leaves red flecks against the corrugated metal wall. This is good. You feel good. Pure. You hear the rain outside, banging against the tin roof. In the distance, the repulsor cranes carry on their swan ballet, offloading pallets from ships across the thousand worlds.